The Life of the Fly 



This marvellous arithmetical juggler has an 

 instinct, a genius, a gift for figures. 



A second, at the age when most of us de- 

 light in tops and marbles, leaves the company 

 of his boisterous playmates and listens to the 

 echo of celestial harps singing within him. 

 His head is a cathedral filled with the strains 

 of an imaginary organ. Rich cadences, a 

 secret concert heard by him and him alone, 

 steep him in ecstasy. All hail to that pre- 

 destined one who, some day, will rouse our 

 noblest emotions with his musical chords. He 

 has an instinct, a genius, a gift for sounds. 



A third, a brat who cannot yet eat his bread 

 and jam without smearing his face all over, 

 takes a delight in fashioning clay into little fig- 

 ures that are astonishingly lifelike for all their 

 artless awkwardness. He takes a knife and 

 makes the briar-root grin into all sorts of en- 

 tertaining masks; he carves boxwood in the 

 semblance of a horse or sheep; he engraves 

 the effigy of his dog on sandstone. Leave him 

 alone; and, if Heaven second his efforts, he 

 may become a famous sculptor. He has an 

 instinct, a gift, a genius for form. 



And so with others in every branch of hu- 

 man activity: art and science, industry and 

 commerce, literature and philosophy. We 



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